What is, isn't and Might
by Larania Drake
Summary: Welcome to the Animorphs Home for Recovering Fanfiction Authors, we hope that your stay will begin you on your road to sanity...


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What Is, Isn't, and Might

Disclaimer: Animorphs, which will barely be mentioned, but will be, belong to Scholastic, and the poem, "The Second Coming," was written by W.B. Yeats. Doesn't belong to me, and I make no money from it. Mr. Therapist belongs to DMP, and I also use him without permission. 

"_Turning and Turning in the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart, the center cannot hold, Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere, The ceremony of innocence is drowned, The best lack all conviction, while the worst, are filled with passionate intensity."_

"How long has she been like this?" asked Mr. Therapist, looking at the girl's concerned parents.

Mother sighed. "We don't know. They found her at school a couple of days ago, slumped over the computers, mumbling about how she had to kill the spammers, and that it wasn't her fault that she was spouting out teen angst. What really got us worried was when she started quoting poems in that strange voice. She sounds like Darth Vader when she is like that."

"Is there any where we can get her help, doctor?" said Father, asking Mr. Therapist in a concerned voice.

"There is an excellent place we can put her, and it will be free of charge, especially for cases like hers," he said, soothingly.

"Where?" asked Mother tearfully. Larania had started to sing the song, "Dust in the Wind," and the sorrowful lyrics made her wonder if there was anyplace she might get well.

"The Animorphs Home for Recovering Fan Fiction Writers."

"To be, or not to be…" rambled on Larania, as she was bundled up in a straight jacket.

It was two days later, and they were at the door of one the most world renown recycling centers. The people that ran it had been able to take in the poor, mentally crazed, insane writers that came into it, and return to the world some the dullest, most boring human beings in existence. A place of healing, it was called, where they took in those humans unfortunate to have imaginations, and the desire to torture characters from series that were not theirs.

"Look," whispered a voice from one of the many barred windows. Becker Wein, who had been there several weeks now, but was still as insane as ever turned to Shamera. "They got another one!"

Shamera nodded. They had managed not to let themselves become "normalized," as they called the process, but it was one of their nightmares.

Even they were a little weirded out when Larania started to give a recital of all the verses from "The Dark is Rising" sequence.

"Maybe there's some hope for this one," said one of the orderlies. 

"I don't know, Bob," said the other. "I heard some freaky things about this one."

"THREE FROM THE CIRCLE, THREE FROM THE TRACK!" Larania screamed at the top of her lungs. The two orderlies tried to grab her arms to take her inside.

"Excuse me, I don't want to go in there," she said in a sing-song voice.

"Well, you are Larania, aren't you?" asked the other orderly, Joe.

"Not right now. I'm Lory."

"Oh, great," muttered Bob. "She has multiple personalities. She's one of _them._"

"Well, whoever you are, you are going in there right now."

"I warn you not to underestimate my powers," Lory warned, sounding threatening.

Joe and Bob had heard it all before. "The walls are lined with anti-fic metal. It was one of the many spin-off products from the war. You can't use your fan fiction powers in there."

Joe and Bob decided that they had heard enough, and tried to grab her again. This time, though, Lory was completely in control and she was able to start kicking them.

"Oooo," said Becker, who was still watching. Lory had just kicked out Bob's knee.

She then did a spinning back kick, which hit Joe in a tender part of the anatomy. Every male in hearing distance went," Ow."

Mr. Therapist, who had recovered more quickly than the other, ran over and jabbed her with a needle.

"I guess we'll have to be more careful with this one than we thought. I will have to work harder on her diagnosis later. Fascinating, she seems to get different abilities with her different faces…"

He trailed off, glancing up at the two writers above him.

"You two, get back to your rooms!" 

Becker and Shamera ducked out quickly.

Larania sighed as she was dragged by the feet into group therapy for the week.

It was her first time there.

Mr. Therapist introduced her to the other patients present. In other words, the writers that had been caught by the characters they had been "abusing."

"Hi, I'm Becker."

"I'm Delphine."

"I'm Allie."

"Forlay, pleased to meet you."

There was insane giggle from DMP.

Many of the others, who were as far-gone, if not worse, snarled, giggled, or cursed as their various natures allowed.

Larania wasn't able to respond. Mr. Therapist had put a muzzle on her. She had tried to bite him when he had come to give her to give her some medication.

"Now," he asked her in his nice, talking to the crazy people voice, "am I talking to Larania?" he asked.

"Yes," said a soft, hissing voice from behind the muzzle. 

"If I take off the muzzle, you will behave, right? Do you understand?"

"Understanding is a three-edged sword. Your side, their side, and the truth."

"Um," said a temporarily confused Mr. Therapist. "Well, I'll take that as a yes."

He took out a heavy key, to unlock the padlock that was holding the various chains on her together.

There was a tricky moment when he some of the chains caught on the chair they had draped her over, because they weren't allowing her to walk on her own. Then, without taking off the straight jacket, the muzzle slid free.

Larania's eyes rolled up in her head briefly.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, only the voice was in an incredibly thick Tennessee accent.

"Oh, no," said Mr. Therapist. Sighing in annoyance, he asked, "To who am I speaking?"

"I'm Avatar, and how did I get here?"

"I'm not familiar with you."

"Thank goodness. I wouldn't want an old fuddy-duddy like you familiar with me."

A strange look crossed Mr. Therapist's face. "How many of you are there?"

"We don't know. Until the real one comes back, we will have to keep taking over. She doesn't want to come out right now."

There was a loud hooting from some guy named Steve, and Mr. Therapist turned around. He was distracted for a moment too long, because Lory got a hold of the body, and was able to pull an old magician's trick to get out of her straight jacket.

Of course, this meant that her shoulder was out of place, so the blow she aimed at Mr. Therapist didn't have the desired affect.

This made the other inmates laugh like crazy, and they joined in on the fun. So, everybody started beating up on Mr. Therapist.

Only then, did a large grizzly bear invade the room, and try to bite the still half-chained Lory.

Lory tripped over her own chains, and went sprawling.

"Well that was fun," giggled Allie.

"Yup," answered Forlay. "We should have group therapy like that more often."

To be continued…


End file.
